Morning Tide
by palais
Summary: People say everybody experiences love and loss. Is there a limit as to who experiences it? D/Hr
1. Chapter 1

Only Hermione Granger would think of putting on the Spice Girls the moment she woke up. Something about the song 'Stop' reminded her of her childhood, the days before she found magic, the days before she was risking her life almost every day. Now with her education at Hogwarts done, and with an entirely new life ahead of her, she began each day with this song.

With her former life completely over, she hadn't been in touch with Harry or Ron for quite a few years—she was now twenty-two—because of their life choices, she would go to work in a muggle library. Her muggle boyfriend would still be sleeping as she got dressed, and would still be sleeping as she kissed his forehead and apparated a kilometer from the library.

Jensen Carlin was Hermione Granger's first muggle boyfriend. Of course she had dated a few wizards, but they eventually didn't work out because of jealousy. Jealousy that she could and would do more complex spells then they could.

It wasn't until last year that she would decide not to participate in the wizarding world any longer. In the course of one day she would not only be jinxed by a former friend Ginny because Ginny thought she was sneaking around with Harry, and she also fell and broke a rib. That day she decided to go to London General Hospital. She would deal with the fattening jinx later. That's where she met Jensen, a doctor in the London General Hospital, and also the doctor who worked on her ribs, packaging them up all nice again.

The next day Jensen asked her out while she was stuck in a hospital bed.

It was that night that he asked her out that she realized that she couldn't un-jinx herself. If she did, she would suddenly be a size four from a size sixteen. That would be a lot of weight lost in a day for a human. So she stayed that size, vowing to take a couple pounds off each day with magic.

She was perfectly blissful in the year that she spent with Jensen. He had the gorgeous ruffled dark blonde hair and blue eyes, and of course he was smart if he was a doctor. He was perfect for her. After six months of dating, Hermione moved into his flat.

With this new life, she could only perform magic when Jensen was sleeping, or when he was working or out. She only apparated when he was sleeping. If he wasn't sleeping, she would take a taxi. When he came home from a long day in the ER she would have a delicious dinner spread out for him, all conjured and produced by her vine, ten and three quarter inch, dragon heartstring wand. He never knew.

The only wizard she had kept in contact with was Neville Longbottom, Professor of Herbology at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. He knew to keep his wand in his pocket when he would visit.

Of course, being the summer, Neville would not be teaching, and would be visiting Hermione as much as he could. He was her only link to Harry Potter and Ronald Weasley.

"They are fine," Neville reassured her as they held a conversation over a cup of tea. Jensen was out with his friends while Neville visited. He didn't exactly like Neville; he thought he was extremely weird.

"I just…I feel so stupid asking you every time you come see me." Hermione sighed and sipped from her gold rimmed tea cup, courtesy from Harry who gave the set to her for her birthday years ago.

"What have I told you before? Either you try to get a hold of them, or obliviate your mind." Neville sighed as well. He sometimes dreaded coming to see Hermione because she always came to the topic of Harry and Ron.

Harry and Ron had stopped talking to Hermione when became pregnant with Harry's child.

Of course she gave that child up.

By the time she met Jensen, she had forgotten all about it.

When Neville left that night, she placed a forgetting charm on her mind. From that point on, she forgot who Harry and Ron were to her. She knew their names, but forgot about how they were best friends, how she had had Harry's child.

It was two weeks later, when Jensen and her would go out to the club—always on Saturday would they go—that she would meet another person that would soon connect her to the wizarding world again.

The music and the drinks mixed in her system, making her woozy and butterflies erupted in her stomach every time her flesh connected with another's. It was the sensation she craved every weekend. By the time she and Jensen got home still wired, they would have the best sex of the week. But tonight she wouldn't be going home with Jensen.

By two o'clock, Jensen was puking in the bathroom, having drank twice his normal amount. Hermione was draped around the body of a tall, lean man with superb pale blonde hair. His grey eyes bore into her brown ones, and she ended up going home with him. That night, their bodies collided. She was one with the wizarding world again.

That morning she awoke to a living nightmare. She was looking into the very face of the sleeping Draco Malfoy, the very boy that had enlarged her teeth, the man who called her a mudblood. The first thought through her muddled brain was, _he looked strangely cute, even _handsome_, when sleeping_.

The moment the thought passed in her brain, she puked.

"Oh Merlin's beard!" Malfoy yelled as he jumped up when the puke hit his chest. He looked down and gagged, seeing it all over him. "What the hell!"

Hermione sat up and grabbed the blankets, about to puke again, and ran to what she thought was the bathroom.

It was his closet.

----------------------

"Where the hell am I?" Hermione demanded after Malfoy allowed her to shower in his master bath. He had used _scourgify _to clean up all the clothes in his closet earlier, and was now in the process of going in his shower to wash the puke off his chest.

"My place," Draco said shortly, his eyebrows creased into a frown. Hermione knew for a fact she wasn't in the Malfoy Manor, knowing that the Malfoy family had had it repossessed four years ago by the Ministry of Magic.

Hermione grabbed his arm sharply, her nails digging into his skin. "Where exactly is _your place_?" She asked, extremely pissed off. Jensen would be worried by now, thinking she had gone off with some man to have sex. Well she did and…Hermione shuddered.

"My flat is in downtown London. Don't worry; you aren't far from your place." Malfoy shrugged her off and hurried into his bathroom. He was oddly calm about all of this. Hermione rushed around his bedroom looking for her clothes and threw them on. Parts of her shirt were soiled with spilt beer.

She left his bedroom and was completely unprepared for the rest of his flat. His bedroom was monotonous, but the rest of his house was…_colourful_. His floor was weathered sandy wood, his walls a baby blue. His white couch hosted red and blue pillows while his dark wood end tables held a purple vase of white daisies and a photo of a smiling Draco and a pretty brown haired girl on a beach. She stood in shock as she looked in his kitchen. There was a small ethnic Indian table with mismatched chairs surrounding it. Old dishes were piled high in his sink and on his beautiful table. This wasn't the Malfoy she knew.

Hermione didn't hear the shower turn off and didn't hear Draco come up behind her in white pants and a blue button up.

"Helena decorated the flat."

Hermione jumped and turned around to face him. Shock registered across her face as she saw what he was wearing as well. Was this really Draco?

"Is that the girl in the picture?" She asked, not caring that she was prying into his life. She walked over to the picture and picked it up, scrutinizing it. "She's awfully pretty to have been with you in that picture."

"Yeah well…"

Hermione put the frame back down and turned to Draco. "Is that Helena?"

Draco face fell a bit. "Yes. That's my girlfriend."

"Well then why did you decide to take a girl home last night? Where is she?" Hermione demanded. She began to reprimand him, even though she had been unfaithful that night as well.

Draco kept quiet as she continued her little speech. When she stopped he sighed. "She's dead."


	2. Chapter 2

Jensen's and Hermione's relationship grew strained after that night at the club. When she arrived home from Draco Malfoy's house, she found him sitting on their red couch—they found it in a thrift shop and had decided that it suited their needs of being big, comfy, and red. It had to be red—staring at the wall. His knee was bouncing in a rapid manner, his hands wringing with each jolt of his body.

When Hermione shut the door behind her, Jensen stood up as if startled. He turned to face her, his entire body rigid as he looked at her. Was there a hint of disgust in his eyes?

"Where were you?" He asked. His voice was hoarse as if he had been crying all morning. It tugged on Hermione's heartstrings when she heard him speak.

Hermione wiped her sweating palms on her jeans before she dropped her purse to the floor. She opened her mouth to tell him that everything was okay, that she was at a friend's house that night, but no sound issued from her lips.

"Where were you?" Jensen asked again. He was angry, she could tell.

Hermione licked her lips before finally answering. "I saw Lisa, the girl I work with, so I left with her."

It was such a stupid lie and Jensen could tell right away. He growled and walked away. He didn't have time to talk to someone who lied to him. Even when it was the girl he loved.

She was so angry at Jensen that she forgot all about Draco. How could Jensen be mad at her when he had left somewhere last night as well? Her mouth screwed up as she followed her. "So where were _you_ last night then?" Hermione asked angrily.

Jensen turned back to her. "I spent last night in a bar bathroom puking, hoping you would look for me and help me. And then when I went to find you, you were gone. So I came back here. How do you think that makes me feel Hermione? I'm sick, and you apparently leave with a friend? I know who Lisa is and she definitely wasn't at the bar last night. So where did you really go?" He asked even more angrily, hitting the dining room table with his hand.

Hermione stared at him. "You were puking? Oh so when you were talking to that girl at the bar, _that was you puking_?"

"I was asking if she saw a girl who looked like you!" Jensen yelled and knocked a plate off the table. Hermione jumped as it smashed on the ground. Her stomach dropped and the feeling of wanting to puke hit her.

"Jensen," She said quietly, holding her stomach. They had never fought like this before. "I'm sorry."

He looked at the plate, then up at her. Suddenly his eyes were blank. "Whatever," he began. "I'm going out."

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Jensen didn't come home that night. He didn't come home the rest of that week either. By the time he did come home, on a dreary Monday morning, Hermione was at work, just trying to make it through the day.

They weren't the same after that fight. Hermione began to look different. Her face was creased with worry, with the loss of a tightly bound love. Her hands fluttered uselessly at her side whenever Jensen walked through the door in the scrubs that she had once loved so much on him. Now they made him look foreign, not the same person.

Jensen never looked at her. When they spoke, however short the sentence was, he would stare at the spot above her head, not wanting to look at the object he once loved. He knew right away he would never love her again. The trust that was there every day of their life together had dwindled to a state that neither of them could find. He became lazy, she became quiet.

He went out at night and wouldn't come home until the morning, still drunk from the many drinks he had had the previous night. When he left for work Hermione cleaned his clothes. She found bright red lipstick on his collar.

There are a few things you can tell from red lipstick. The girl wearing the lipstick is usually out to find a man. They wouldn't care if the man is taken or not, they are the devils of women. They prowl the nightlife, their red lipstick bright and red upon their swollen lips, draping their eyes over an unsuspecting man.

Hermione's breath quickened at the sight of the lip mark, a large ethnic looking print upon a plain looking shirt. Her eyes widened frantically as she rummaged through his dirty clothes and brought up ten shirts with different shades of lipstick pressed against them. Burgundy, red, dark pink, all of them colours she did not own.

Her hands fell to her lap as she realized that they would never live as lovers again. Their relationship was over. She had finally experienced love and loss.

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Draco Malfoy's life was no longer filled with sustenance.

Ever since Helena had died, the one girl Draco had chosen that his parents approved upon, he would spend his nights getting smashed and hope to pick up a girl in the meantime. As they had drunken sex, he would imagine he was with Helena. He would run his hands through the girl's hair pretending it was her own silky brown hair. They eyes he looked into would suddenly turn blue. His body would be colliding with Helena again.

But of course she was dead.

When he woke up the day after Hermione Granger ended up in his bed, he felt awfully sick. It wasn't the flu, and it wasn't the slugivitis sickness. It was most definitely the sick feeling that you get after you sleep with someone and you feel awfully guilty. He didn't like Granger, so why would he feel guilty? Was it that she looked so familiar to him? With all the other girls he slept with, he would never see them again, he didn't know their life stories. He knew Granger's story.

The goody-good. The girl he always hated in school because not only was she smarter than him, but she was a mudblood who was smarter than him. Draco was very smart for his age, and his father had some pride in him for that, but when Lucius got word of the dirty Gryffindor beating his pure-blood son, he began to push Draco harder. It did no good. Hermione Granger was still smarter.

Malfoy pride hit his stomach like a brick. If his father or mother ever figured out that he had slept with Granger…there goes his inheritance.

Thank God he would never see her again.

His mind wandered back to a day four weeks ago while he turned his water glass around on Helena's hand painted table. It spilt a little so he wiped it up with his sleeve.

He remembered seeing Potter and Weasley walking together, their heads bent together like they were conspiring against someone. Interested, Malfoy followed close behind and subtly enlarged his ear to hear better.

"Neville saw Hermione the other day. She asked about us again," Ron said quietly. His lips twitched in irritation at the name. Harry sighed.

"I wish Neville would just tell her to not even bother. She knows full well that we don't want to see her."

Draco was shocked. Granger wasn't in the good books with Potter and Weasley? But they were certainly best friends! They were the Golden Trio! He twisted his ear again to hear why she was no longer speaking to them, but they had apparated from the spot.

Back to the present, he wondered whether that was why she was in the bar he had been habiting the past few months.

A small squeak brought his eyes up to a slim girl resting on side of the doorway to his bedroom. Her red lipstick made her lips look even more swollen than they were. With a small smile she beckoned to Draco. He couldn't resist, not when she was in the lacy underwear that muggles so often wore when they went out at night. With a smirk on his face, he followed her to his bedroom where he would do it all over again.


	3. Chapter 3

There was always a plan. Always.

When Lucius Malfoy came to visit his son in his exceptionally dark robes, he had a plan. He didn't care whether or not his son would want to do it, because in the end he would force his son to do it. Either by using imperio to puppeteer Draco to do the job, or inflict as much pain on him as possible until he gave in, Draco would end up carrying out his father's wishes.

He wasn't an ideal father.

When Draco arrived home from the bar, early that night for some reason, he noticed his father sitting disdainfully on Helena's couch. It was funny how he characterized everything in that apartment as Helena's, like constantly using her name allowed her to be alive.

"What are you doing here father?" Draco asked. His voice was monotone. Lucius tapped his black cane on Helena's table before he stood up, his pointed face accentuated with the black of his robes casting a shadow upon them.

Lucius' face upturned in a smile, a scary one at that, before he answered his brooding son. "I have a job for you. It'll take some time, I expect, to be carried out, but I have faith in you Draco."

Draco shook his head. "I'm not doing it Father." He walked past Lucius, avoiding his gaze.

"_Crucio_."

Only a foot into the bright kitchen, his world went dark. He crumbled, screaming, as intense pain hit his body. Suddenly thousands of invisible knives were plunging themselves into his skin. His body writhed in pain for what it seemed like hours until the pain faded away. He lay gasping on the kitchen floor, seeing spots where his father should have been standing.

"Are you sure you don't want to carry out this little task for me? It won't cost you anything," Lucius said in a sickly sweet voice.

Draco gasped in breath to calm his racking body. Heaving himself up, he leaned on the kitchen counter staring angrily at his father. He noticed Lucius had taken his wand out of the stick, his hand clasped over a horrible looking snake.

"I won't do it, not after what you did to—"Draco was cut off as another flurry of knives hit his body. When it ended he stayed on the floor, hating that he showed this small sign of weakness to his father.

"You haven't even heard my proposition dear Draco." Lucius smirked the same smirk that so often found its way onto Draco's face.

Draco rested his forehead on the cool tiles of the kitchen, hoping to cool down his burning body. "I don't want to hear it," he said furiously.

Lucius pretended as though Draco said nothing. "Ah son, it is the most brilliant plan yet. The Dark Lord is gone, which is sufferable enough, but now mudbloods are walking Diagon Alley as though they own it. The other day I saw one bushy haired girl buying one of Borgin and Burkes objects! She looked quite delicious, but I knew right away whose side she was on. I believe her name is Granger." Lucius tapped his cane roughly on Draco's shoulder, a movement that told Draco right away to stand up. He got up grudgingly.

"So? What is this supposed to do with us if Granger was in Knockturn Alley?"

Lucius sighed impatiently. "What if she is getting an object for Harry Potter? Who knows what he is planning with the Dark Lord gone?" He snarled. His wrinkled white hands tightened on the snake head of his cane.

"Then Potter has a dark object. Who cares? I certainly don't anymore."

"Of course you do Draco. You know how those three imbeciles work together to bring down other _higher_ powered wizards."

Draco chuckled darkly. "It's not those three anymore. Weasel and Potter don't speak to Granger anymore." Suddenly he hated that he had given Lucius Malfoy this vital piece of information.

Lucius' eyes lit up at the sound of this. "So…" He stopped, trailing off to think. Whatever he was planning, it surely involved dark magic, just the kind he had seen Hermione Granger looking at.

Nonchalantly Lucius changed the subject. "The Manor has been given back to us. The Ministry deemed it safe and without dark magic."

"I'm not moving back." Draco said darkly.

"I wasn't expecting you. No, I'm expecting you to use the family dungeons. Now listen to me—"Lucius paused again, putting it into order in his head. His voice became harsh, every word seeping deep into Draco's flesh and bones. "I swear I'll use the Imperius curse on you if you do not obey me. All good sons obey their fathers. Now, you will get as close as you can to that Granger girl. Use as many means as you want to; just get her to trust you. Then, following this, you'll place her in our dungeons and slowly kill her until the Potter boy comes to rescue his little friend."

Draco looked confused, an emotion he was not used to displaying on his thin face. "Why would I do this?"

"To get rid of them of course. It doesn't really matter if the Weasley boy comes—"Lucius spat the name at the remembrance of how they betrayed the pure-blood wizards, "—just make sure Potter is there. Then you'll kill the mudblood in front of him. That should still his heart."

Draco swallowed a lump in his throat. Did he really have a chance not to do this? No, unless he wanted to do it against his will. "I…" He stopped.

"Draco, you don't want to because of what happened to that poor Helena girl. I promise that will never happen again." Lucius smiled that sickly sweet smile again and turned away from him. "You start getting close to her today." With a spin, Lucius Malfoy was gone.

Draco stared furiously at the spot where his father had stood. Old memories came up to haunt him.

Lucius Malfoy had killed Helena Teaming.

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On Thursday, Hermione moved out of Jensen's apartment with her many bags full of clothes, tea sets, jewelry and the odd vase of daffodils, her favourite flower. Jensen wasn't there to see her go, but Hermione wasn't really expecting him to be.

Stepping out of the house, she ran into a tall man pacing on the porch. His hands were tucked into his jean's pockets as he bit the side of his lip.

"Oh sorry!" Hermione said hurriedly as she dropped a bag full of her teacups on the ground, many smashing upon the stone of the porch. Sighing, she ignored the man and pointed her wand at the cups.

"_Reparo_," The man said, quicker at casting than she was. The cups quickly repaired themselves and righted in the bag. Hermione looked up to see who had helped her and found herself staring at the face of Draco Malfoy.

"What are you doing here?" She asked him, scoffing at the sight of him, his muddied jeans from the rain, shirt askew, half tucked in, and rain boots. Rain boots! On Draco Malfoy!

Draco shrugged. "I could ask myself the same thing."


	4. Chapter 4

It didn't go well.

The moment he answered with an undetermined answer, Hermione grew into the shell she usually went into when he encountered things, or people, she couldn't explain.

And Draco was a person she couldn't explain, or come up with an answer to.

"You don't know why you are here? How did you even know where I lived?" Hermione asked with an edge to her voice.

"I told you already Granger; I don't know why I am here. And as for how I knew where you live, it's a little thing called the Four-One-One." His lip curled at thought of her thinking he was a stalker.

"Yes well…"Hermione was wordless. She hitched her bag back on her shoulder and tightened her grip on her other suitcases.

"Where are you going?" Draco drawled in that way of his that made it seem like he didn't care.

"Out of here."

"Obviously Granger."

Hermione sighed. "I'm finding my own place."

"Ahh, the boyfriend kicked you out? Was it my fault?" Draco smirked. Hermione scowled. Obviously Draco had resorted back to his own self. It was the only way he could deal with his task.

"No. I _decided_ to move out. Things weren't working out. Now goodbye," Hermione said, taking a step past him so she could apparate. In a moment, Draco grabbed her arm as she spun, and they were both off.

"Let go!" Hermione yelled over the rushing of the wind, but Draco wouldn't take a chance of splinching himself. They both landed, Hermione on her feet, Draco sitting on the ground.

"Are you always that demanding?" Draco grumbled and stood up, brushing off his jeans.

Hermione harrumphed and turned towards a small cottage. Only then did Draco realize that they were no longer in the city. The green grass sprouted up proudly, much to proud for Draco's mood, for he stomped on every blade with as much force as he could manage when he walked.

"What, pray tell, are you doing here Granger? I never knew you to be the outdoorsy type." Draco smirked as he brushed past her and pushed open the door of the small cottage. A cobweb rushed at them with the wind that was trapped inside of the house.

"I don't know. I…don't even know where this is."

Draco rolled his eyes, his sharp face half cast in shadows from the cottage. "How could you not know? You apparated here did you not Granger? Or have you turned into a raving psychopath killer now? Please, if you are going to kill me, use a quick and clean way. I don't want my body mangled, or my pure blood being spilled."

Hermione growled and pushed past him and into the cottage.

It was dark inside, but Hermione could make out a large open room with two doors leading off to somewhere else. A few more steps in, lighting up her wand, she could see a small kitchen, only enough room for an old fashioned fridge and wood stove. A beaten up wooden table stood gallantly four feet from the fridge and stove.

She smiled.

A large rectangular shape on the floor where the dust had not settled marked the place where a sofa had sat. Furniture was piled in a corner of the large room, upset about the state their last owners had left them in. Hermione noticed the chandelier on the ceiling with candle wax frozen in the state they had dripped and run down from. Muttering a word, the candle wicks burst to life.

The room was nice and bright with the light lit. She walked to the two large windows and pulled back the curtains, a thick wave of dust erupting from the folds. The light washed the cottage, filled every dark crevice, and sparkled through the windows. For a moment she was the happiest she had been for weeks and completely forgot about Draco's presence. Until he spoke that was.

"Well that's certainly dirty. God, are you _staying_ in this shithole Hermione?" She didn't notice that he had actually used her name.

"Yes I'm staying here. And it is not a _shithole_. Your _house_ was a shithole." Hermione retorted, brushing her hair from her face, which had come undone from her ponytail.

A stab of pain hit Draco's chest, but he shrugged it away. "Well tell that to Helena then. I didn't decorate it."

Hermione pointed her wand at the array of furniture in the corner and a sofa came flying towards her. She settled it down in front of her. "Just needs a little bit of work," She whispered to herself, then turned towards Draco who was examining what was through the first door.

"How did she die anyways?" Hermione asked.

The question hit him like a brick. No one had actually asked how she died before; they only said how sorry they were. He couldn't exactly tell her how a pretty jet of green light issued from his father's wand and hit her squarely in her equally pretty face. No.

"Skiing accident." Draco mumbled, his face half in the room, half in the room he was exploring.

"_You_? _Skiing_?" She snorted and continued to set furniture up and clean them, all with a few professional flicks of the wrist.

"Yes."

Draco walked out of the room and sat on the newly cleaned couch. "You are actually staying here then?" He asked her, that smirk that only lifted half of his face up. His eyes, however, did not smirk. They were blank.

"Yes. Everyone cannot afford the lap of luxuries you are used to Malfoy. Anyways, what are you still doing here?"

Draco shrugged. "Once again I could ask myself the same thing. Why haven't you kicked me out yet?"

Hermione grimaced. It was certainly a valid question, one that she was now asking herself. Why wasn't she kicking him out? She hated him. Hated the cowardice he was. Hated how he and his family had joined in with the celebration after the defeat of Voldemort. Sure, his mother had saved Harry in a way, but Lucius did nothing other than support the Dark Lord for his entire existence.

"Because I forgot you were here." She lied of course. Hermione Granger knew he was there the whole time. Oddly, however much she hated him, his presence sent a sort of calm over her.

Draco laughed. It was pleasant, a sort of low murmur, warming Hermione to the bone. Still, Hermione shivered.

"It's highly unlikely you forgot I wasn't here Granger. I'm not a very forgettable person. I'm not a very pleasant person either."

Hermione shrugged and rummaged through the whitewashed cupboards on one wall, mixed in with floor-to-ceiling bookshelves. She smiled at the thought of how many books could fit there. Ignoring him, she continued to snoop around the old cottage.

"You are an exceptionally rude woman Granger. Or are you a woman? That night you seemed like a man, howling out like you did." Draco smirked.

Her feet stomped across the creaking floor until they stopped in front of him. Draco smiled at himself as he looked down at her scuffed flats, something he never imagined Granger to wear. He always imagined her in dorky trainers, their laces in a perfect bow.

"I did not howl like a man," Hermione growled, holding her wand tightly in her hand, her knuckles turning white.

"Could've fooled me. In fact, you sounded exactly like you do now, that deep low sensual voice that made me feel like I was doing it with a man. It really lowered my self-esteem." Draco jeered, his voice lilting.

"_Get out_!"

Draco leaned back casually on the couch, his arms draping the back. "You know, you look kind of cute when you're angry. You should be angry more often."

Hermione screamed and pointed her wand at him. "Get out now Malfoy. I don't even know why you are here, let alone mocking me! Out—out—out!"

Draco laughed that deep murmur again, and stood up. "Alright Granger, don't let your hair get anymore frizzy than it already is—"A jet of red streaked past his right shoulder. "Jeez Granger, I'm going. God, what a real dump this is." He apparated.

Hermione tamed her stray hair and fixed the hole she had just burnt in the wall during her fury. He really brought the worst out of her.

Looking around she sighed to herself. Where exactly was she?


	5. Chapter 5

So Draco kind of disobeyed his father. What could go wrong? Oh, a tooth protruding from the ear, tongue wrapping itself up in a bow, even every bone in his body broken, wouldn't be as bad as the sick things his father would do to him. Does hanging on a rod by the ear sound better? Or perhaps standing on a bed of nails? Let's just say Lucius Malfoy resorted to the more _medieval _punishments.

Of course, Draco wouldn't tell his father how he did not try to get close to Granger. Unless Lucius was spying on his only son, Draco would be pretty safe.

But of course, how could he get close to Granger? One night was bad enough, but he couldn't make himself do it. He couldn't just ruin someone's life for the fun of it, unless it was Harry Potter's life. He and Granger were alike, they could see eye to eye for most things.

Plus, what would Helena think? She was dead, sure, but wouldn't she still be watching? Wouldn't she be up in witch and wizard heaven dancing, her favourite thing, and watching him to make sure he wasn't getting into any trouble?

Hah, he certainly wasn't a good boy then if she was watching.

Still, he would have to make a decision. Keep being a little bitch, that annoying, bragging boy he was in school, or man it up and start being nice to her to please his only family.

He decided the bitch.

He would just tell Lucius Malfoy she wasn't into men.

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The cottage was perfect. It was much brighter with someone actually living in it, like the house could sense her presence and made her overall day happier. She never lost anything, the floor never got dirty, and she always found her grandmother's quilt folded neatly on the edge of the couch.

Perfect.

She had filled her bookshelves with books, from magical ones, Cerelia's Garden for the Everyday Witch, to classics, Pride and Prejudice.

Hermione still spent every night since she had apparated to the cottage in Penelope's Close, asking herself how she knew this place. Every night she came up with ideas, but she shot down each one simultaneously. It was all she could do, other than creating a spectacular garden surrounding the house with help from Cerelia's book, since she was always alone.

After a month in total seclusion, she forgot about Jensen, forgot about the night with Draco, and she loved it.

But after a month, while she was hidden in the garden, sitting on an old chair she found, reading a small novel, she heard a grumbling and footsteps coming up the pebbled walkway.

"What the hell happened here? It's all _cheery_." A deep voice issued from her left as Hermione slouched in her chair, trying to remain unseen.

A laugh broke out from another person. "Maybe some bonneagins got in? You know the ones Luna's always talking about that break into people's houses and dust it with happiness? Lord knows Ron, you need happiness."

Luna? Whoever these people, they definitely knew Luna Lovegood, Hermione's friend from Hogwarts.

When she stood up, startling the two men, she got the shock of a lifetime. Harry Potter and Ron Weasley, the Boy Who Lived and his equally famous best friend!

"Hermione?" Harry asked, confused. Here he was checking Ron's grandmother's house to see if was good enough for him and Ginny to move into, after not being looked after for so many years, and here Hermione Granger, mother of his child, living in it!

"Harry Potter! Ron Weasley! It's such an honour!"

Ron scowled. "What are you doing here Hermione?"

Hermione looked confused. How did they know her name?

Harry, getting over the shock of seeing her for the first time in years, nudged Ron. "She's probably nutters by now," He murmured.

"I'm not nutters! Wait, how do you know my name?"

Ron laughed bitterly. Why was he acting so…cold, when it was Harry who should've been acting that way?

"I wonder Hermione. Hmm…could it be that we _were_ friends for at least nine years before you messed everything up?"

Hermione looked from Harry to Ron, Ron to Harry. What were they talking about?

Clearly Harry realized how clueless she was.

"Jesus Hermione, did you erase us from your memory? How nice."

Hermione shook her head. Scurrying past them, she headed inside the cottage, shut the door and leaned against it, her hand still firmly on the door handle.

"Hermione open the bloody door! This is my grandmother's house! Therefore I own it! Not you! HERMIONE OPEN THE DOOR!" Ron yelled, banging on it.

"RON CALM DOWN!" Harry yelled at Ron. The banging ceased. "She's obviously not going to open it. God, have you forgotten you are a wizard? Oh wait, that's right, you failed the N.E.W.T.'s." Harry snorted.

"That wasn't my fault. The quill Fred gave me wrote down all the wrong answers! And they stole my wand!"

"Are you sure? McGonagall would've noticed the difference. Unless she actually thought you were daft."

"Not cool mate, not cool."

Harry snorted again. "Hermione, if you don't open the door---"A loud crack cut him off, sending him flying to the ground with a slightly pale man sitting on his chest.

"Oh thanks for the soft landing Potter," Draco drawled.

Hermione threw open the door when she heard his low voice. When she saw the state of all three of them, Draco sitting on Harry's chest and Ron running around them yelling "MALFOY? MALFOY?", she began to laugh.

"Oh hello Granger. Thanks for cleaning up the porch before I arrived."

-----------------------

"Wait, let me get this straight. You associate with Malfoy of all people—no offence mate—"

"—None taken."

"—and you just erase us from your memory? That's great." Ron furrowed his brow in thought. "Wait, so you don't remember me dropping Crookshanks down the stairs to see if he could fly?"

Hermione looked at Ron shocked. "You did what?"

"Oh…nothing…" Ron mumbled.

Harry sighed. "Jesus Ron, she's trying to remember stuff and you tell her things you wouldn't want her to know!"

They sat in 'Hermione's' living room. She wasn't sure whether it was actually hers now since Ron had claimed it as his grandmother's. Ron and Harry shared the couch while Hermione took an armchair. Draco stood with his back on the kitchen counter, a slight frown on his face as he looked at the two men who were no different than they were at Hogwarts. Completely and utterly stupid, to Draco anyways.

As they spoke, catching up, obviously no longer upset at each other as they were before, Draco began to think of ways to get Hermione Granger to fall in love with him. It had been a month since he had last seen her, and in that month a lot of things had happened. Draco turned into a shell again, not caring about anything, anyone, for every day his father would come to his house and become disappointed with Draco's advancements.

He would torture him every day.

Draco showed no physical scars, but emotionally he was tired. He was tired of being harmed to a point that he could do nothing. Would he jeopardize everything to save a life? Or would he follow his father's orders to make sure that he got his inheritance, that his family didn't disown him.

Family was the only thing he had.

It was just his luck that the day he would go see Hermione was the exact same day that Harry and Ron would show up. He would wait until they were gone of course.

Then, Draco Malfoy would use anything in his power to overpower Hermione's will. He would make her fall in love with him, only to have her killed in the end.

Was it worth it?


End file.
